Naisei
by Sasukeluva 4eva
Summary: A written piece on the Edo Period in Japan, in which one lost, tormented soul reflects upon his past deeds and mistakes; a samurai seeking the road to redemption through wandering and slaughter. Please .:Read and Review:.


***~*._N_**a_i_**_s_**e_i_**.****_*~*_**

**_(Reflection)_**

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思い出に理由があります

_(In memories there is _reason_)_

たとえ熟考するべき何もないとしても

(Even if there aren't any [memories] to reflect upon)

それで、らがどちらを捜しているかについて、らがそれを見つけるまで、人は永遠にあてもなくさまよわなくてはなりません

**(So one must eternally wander until they find that in which they are searching for)**

**...**

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**...**

Blood splatters painted the soft white snow an eerie shade of scarlet, the decapitated forms falling lifeless to the frozen ice land at their feet—no longer was there any semblance of life in them.

Their souls now resided within the realms of the Pure Land, where they would be offered perpetual sanctuary for the rest of their eternity; they were nothing more than lifeless corpses, a shell of the being they once were, _had_ been until mere moments ago.

Before _he_ had taken his katana and all but shoved it through them, the crimson liquid that flowed through their veins spurting uncontrollably from the deep incision he had carved into their bodies, and painting the surroundings in endless seas of red.

The young man of no more than eighteen stumbled numbly through the bitter snowstorm; it curled around him, wrapping him in its frosty embrace—it was the only form of solace someone like him could receive from another, whether a physical, precedent being, or one of the inanimate stature.

If anything were to be said of his emotional state, he was glad for it; for the vague interpretation of warmth that had presented itself to him in the form of one of Mother Nature's creations—_no matter how cold it was in reality_.

But reality in itself was vague—the sketchy, unpredictable plane of stars that stretched for countless miles across the inky black sky was such an interpretation; never would one know when or where the next glittering diamond would appear in the sky, nor would they ever know where they began and ended.

It would always be an aspect of life that could never be foreseen, nor altered—until the day that his fate would shift for the better or for the worst, reality was as bitter and cold as the storm raging around his person.

The satiny portrait that was the sky was now purged from his view; indeed it was a fearsome blizzard, to be causing so much hazardous confusion amidst the darkness of the night.

So much was it affecting his once free movements that he found his body craning forward, fighting against the relentless wind that was so determined to derail him from his path; and yet, he had no clue as to where his destination was to be.

He was simply allowing his feet to carry him where they will; perhaps it would be a safe, warm place, where he could finally be freed of the restricting constraints that his profession as a samurai carried along with it.

The burdens of such a task; to kill or be killed on a daily basis, _that_ is what they lived by every single day of their miserable lives, until either old age, heartbreak or another warrior ended them.

He had taken this upon himself to _save_ the lives of those that _needed_ to be protected, but he had gradually lost sight of that goal, and had revelled too much in the colour that he had _ripped_ from their bodies; in their anguished screams and pleas of mercy; in their feeble states of weakness when faced with his daunting presence.

They were all so _weak_; whenever he fought, he found himself thoroughly dissatisfied, simply because they could not match him—_no one could_.

Ever would, in reality.

Ah, once again torn from the realms of his pondering as that one word kept recurring to him; what was to be elaborated on about the constricting restraints of the living, breathing world around him?

Reality was always to be the one enemy he could never slay, the one he wished to slaughter the most; after all, it was reality that made him face the brutal verity of his predicament, the very mistake that had caused so much torment and chaos within himself.

The murder of his beloved—_by his own hand_.

The crusted blood staining his katana's blade to the very hilt saw to it that he would never forget; what he had done; what he had lost by _doing so_.

She had died when, with the last of his strength, he had swung his blade with frightening force, to kill the bastard who had dared take her from him (from his embrace, _from_ _their_ _home_), only to have her stumble blindly into the path of his onslaught, the look of pure desperation and utter horror gracing her lovely features startling him to numbness; by the time he had come to his senses, he had already cleaved her head clean from her shoulders, the long obsidian locks of hair matted with mushy snow and dyed an eerie shade of sickly brown.

And worst of all, the scarlet liquid was _still wet_.

The freshness of her state of death had further emphasised the terminal shock that was running its course through his entire body, and he could do nothing but stare dumbly with a vacant look on his handsome face at her crumpled body and the stream of red let lead to her severed head.

Her eyes remained bulbous, blank and devoid of all expression, dulled to a faint hue of soft brown—the colour of chestnuts was what he was reminded of.

She had always loved that shade—perhaps she would thank him for the gift he had given in turn for ending her life on the planes of the mortal man.

Perhaps there would be forgiveness for the heinousness of his crime?

He thought not.

At that time the blizzard had yet to make its mark upon the land, so everything was as clear and pristine as all scenery was to him; a bright blue sky, soft rays of white light seeping in through the dense foliage towering far beyond his reach, the chipper chirps of birds and their chicks sounding in the otherwise stilled atmosphere.

Everything had slowed by then, where he stood amongst the chaos of the snow, as if stuck in equilibrium—something endless and not limited to the air above.

Like all colour had been drained from the world until all that was left were shades of black, white, gray, and red_red_**red**red_**red**_; nothing escaped its crimson embrace.

_He_ couldn't escape it.

And he never would.

But why did he spend precious moments of the elusive element of time continually raking his memories for reasons, reasons for the being of reality, the being of living and life itself; the reason of his lover's betrayal?

Why had she done it, thrown herself in his path when she _knew_ he was intending to go _beyond_ mortally wounding him? Maybe it was because he had been deceived by her beauty, purity and supposed 'good intentions'?

If anything were to be said, they were anything but; ill and dirtied through to the core.

She had tricked him and his foolish heart into loving her, revelling in his folly as she strung him along like a lovesick marionette.

But a marionette could not love.

After all, they were simply the instruments of one's devastation in the end; much akin to him, really. So in truth, the fate of a marionette mirrored his own—his own self-destruction was assured.

He had seen to that by falling for that common whore, like so many had inevitably done so before him. His fate had been sealed before he had even drawn to the conclusions; he would die, strong and proud, regardless of the withering organ inside his chest.

And so, he wandered.

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**..**

**.**

Ten years had he drifted seamlessly without purpose or intention, fighting to survive, surviving to kill; an endless cycle much akin to that of the ceaseless sky of sparkling stars above, the very elements that made up the fabrics of reality (_he would never forget; the ponderings of his youth still remained fresh in his mind even to this very day_).

But time had finally come to a halting stop for him. **'In sickness and in health, 'till death do us part.'** That statement carried more verity than he could have ever foreseen.

Even after all of the time that she had been rendered a rotting corpse six feet beneath the earth's soil, food for the maggots, she still haunted him until the very end.

Ironic that her death had induced the lingering illness that now plagued him.

But perhaps this was the freedom that he had been eagerly awaiting. Blood seeped from the corners of his mouth, spilling down the smooth, unmarred contour of his chin and meeting with the thin layer of snow that coated the ground at his sparsely covered feet; by now they were ridden with frostbite, so leaden and weighted that he collapsed from the burdensome load, body sinking into the impacted ivory with a distinct _'crunch!'_ following his fall.

His heated body suddenly felt deathly cold, as snowflakes flittered down from the darkened plane above, only to fall upon his hakamashita's back; the wind's fervour augmented.

Much alike to that day a decade before.

Except this time _he_ was the victim, ravaged by a sickness that could not be cured by any means of witchcraft or modern methods of medicinal practise.

But maybe it was what he deserved.

Maybe… just maybe he would be able to reflect on his life in a positive light, as he bordered the planes of the Afterlife.

Scarlet fluid further stained the frost-covered ground, pooling around his figure from the gutting wound he had inflicted upon himself; he hoped to suffer before he passed on, for all of the sins he had committed.

He began to wander as a _child_, and his life ended—_**he died**_—as a _man_.

**.**

A breathy whisper carried on the air, of a feminine character he had known all too well, tickling his senses and bringing a soft smile to his bloodied, crimson lips as he breathed his last breath, all life leaving him, but leaving him in peace.

_"Shin…ta."_

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**What was once lost has been found; no longer need you search in vain**

**For memories that do not exist, never existed**

**That caused you such unbearable pain**

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人の不安定、彼らの疑問、およびそれらのせいの反映

_(The reflection of one's insecurity, their doubts and their faults)_

タスクは喪に服して忘れられていますか?

(Is a task forgotten in mourning)

しかし、そして、私たちへの人の最愛の人の形の平和を与えます。

**(But then peace in the form of the one dearest to us is given)**

現在彼らの誤りの悪影響を及ぼすのにそれらの永遠を費やさなければならなくて

_**(So one must now spend their eternity reflecting upon their mistakes)**_

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**a/n: Kindly drop in a review, if you would. (:**


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